The Lord Demon King is Unfathomable!

The acolytes of the Great Graveyard didn't linger at the inn for long.

As night fell, the cloaked lizardmen and a variety of skeletons quickly departed from this temporary refuge crowded with refugees.

The raging snowstorm made the wooden planks nailed over the windows creak, amplifying the serene crackle of the fireplace.

Exhausted and no longer on edge, the crowd gradually drifted into sleep, lulled by the sound of intermittent snores.

It was the first time they had slept so soundly.

There was no need to fear the lord's private soldiers, masquerading as bandits.

Nor to worry about the demon beasts, gray bears, or wolves lurking in the forest...

Yet Pierre, the village head, could not sleep no matter how he tried.

He tossed and turned on the reed mat, deep furrows of worry etched into his weathered face, as if caught in a web of unresolved inner turmoil.

"The Lord Demon King is always watching you..."

The words of the Lizardman Monk burned deeply into his mind, so much so that he couldn't shake the feeling of an invisible pair of eyes observing him from the shadows. He couldn't stop himself from obsessively wondering—had he done something wrong, or perhaps some act that might displease the Demon King?

This was purely an instinctual reaction.

When anyone feels watched, they naturally start to care about whether their words, actions, and demeanor leave a good impression. When those eyes are imbued with divine significance, as part of an "Existence in the Mysterious," their influence transcends morality, ascending to the level of religious faith.

Even though, for someone like Pierre—who had only just arrived at this camp, with his faith freshly shattered—he could not yet speak of having belief in the Demon King or the Demon God behind him.

And yet, precisely because of this, his guilty conscience left him uneasy, afraid that the omnipotent Demon King might penetrate and expose the truest depths of his heart.

He began to scrutinize his own soul, along with the hideous, selfish, and unbearable parts buried deep within.

He was not as selfless as he had imagined himself to be.

He did not flee alone, leaving the villagers behind, not out of nobility, but simply because he had no other place to go. Without them, it would have been a dead end for him as well.

Along the way, he'd abandoned many people—not solely for the greater good as he claimed, but also because he didn't want to shoulder the risks or pay the price for saving them.

He also admitted that he might not have been as great as the villagers believed. Most of the time, he had merely been forced into the role they had crafted for him, living out the persona others had constructed.

Moreover, when he volunteered to handle the registration of names, he had ulterior motives. Almost instinctively, he reached for the readily accessible authority—not out of gratitude for his saviors or responsibility towards his fellow villagers.

Faced with the realization of the ugliness inside him, unable to endure the torment or unease anymore, he finally closed his eyes and began to pray like a devout believer.

"O Lord Demon King above... please forgive my sins."

Goodness begins not with realizing "I'm incredibly virtuous," but with recognizing "I'm no saint." Devotion works the same way—it starts not with "I am divinely chosen," but with "I am utterly unworthy."

Pierre hadn't fully understood this yet.

But at this unnoticed moment, he had already undergone a baptism of the soul, reclaiming the reverence he had once discarded.

He started to believe again that there was, indeed, a pair of eyes watching him from the heavens—there were things that could be done and others that would incur punishments from the Mysterious.

In a daze, he felt a figure standing by his side, taking away the anguish in his heart.

The eyes from the Mysterious were no longer sharp.

And at last, he peacefully entered his dreams, drifting into deep sleep...

...

It is worth mentioning, though, that while nearly every Guardian Clan acolyte frequently intones, "The Lord Demon King is watching you," neither the Demon King nor the Demon God possesses the ability to observe every believer at all times.

Nor did Luo Yan intend to.

His true goal was to cultivate a sense of reverence in the hearts of the refugees, who had once resorted to any means to survive.

Reverence is the cornerstone of faith.

It is also the prerequisite for establishing morality, law, and all forms of order.

So far, the Guardian Clan's monks had been reasonably successful. Some individuals had already undergone a subtle transformation, a baptism of the soul.

And this was achieved without the Demon King's direct involvement.

As for the figure Pierre saw before falling asleep, it was not Luo Yan himself, but the image of the Demon King in his and Holy Oak Village's collective imagination.

Though the figure did not perfectly overlap with Luo Yan, it did not prevent the latter from reaping the Power of Faith from it.

At the same time, deep within the North Peak Mine, inside the Demon King's Magic Workshop...

Busy with concocting a Magic Potion, Luo Yan finally reached the final stage of his work, carefully pouring the dark purple liquid into a silver metal tray.

Floating beside Luo Yan, Youyou curiously studied the purple liquid in the tray, its wavering form appearing in the mirror at her side.

"Lord Demon King, what are you making this time?"

Distracted by his work, Luo Yan didn't look at her, but he still answered, satisfying her curiosity.

"Anti-counterfeit ink."

Youyou tilted her round head in confusion.

"Anti-counterfeit ink?"

"That's right."

As he replied, Luo Yan sprinkled a pinch of finely ground carbon powder onto the glowing purple ink.